


Crimson arrow

by ThaliaBubble



Series: Vampires, assemble ! [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Endgame, Blood, Blood Drinking, Death, F/M, Korean Characters, Love, Or not, Sad Ending, Sexual Tension, Vampires, holding out for a hero, slightly erotic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 19:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaliaBubble/pseuds/ThaliaBubble
Summary: ("Vampires, assemble" is not a real serie, each part can be be read separately )After Thanos snap, Clint Barton lost everything and even his name. Become Ronin, he drowns in the blood the pain that gnaws at him. When he saves you one night, he sees you as an unknown in the fog but the future proves he's wrong. Pain, love, blood, some relationships are short but intense.Clint is a vampire but frankly, is that so important? (Yes a bit)
Relationships: Clint Barton/Reader
Series: Vampires, assemble ! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542622
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Crimson arrow

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Crimson arrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084941) by [ThaliaBubble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaliaBubble/pseuds/ThaliaBubble). 

> I placed the action before the start of Endgame, just to oust Hawkeye's family.
> 
> It's not really a built fanfic, it has several parts and for the rest, it's up to you to link the elements, to imagine the missing parts, to weave your own story. And no, it's not lazyness, it was well thought out.
> 
> It is also possible that I typed this fic in an afternoon and that I posted it directly for a friend who will never read it perhaps. Who knows ?
> 
> Have fun and enjoy <3
> 
> Translated with Google traduction, sorry ^^'

The rain that falls in big drops on the windows creates a vague filter between you and the world, the illuminated city which extends as far as the eye can see under the timid light of a rounded moon. You had to get used to seeing the world from above, always sleeping close to the clouds because he could not take any room other than the top floor, wherever you go. This makes his former nickname even more present, the very one he refuses to pronounce and has buried deep down like the rest of his past. Hawkeye ... sometimes you're extremely frustrated at not being able to joke about it, referring to Assassin's creed for example. But you hold on brilliantly.

A slight rustle comes to you and you smile before your companion returns, his face soaked with rain despite the dark hood that protects him and he pushes back with a grunt. The night seems to have been long, again. But at least he's alive and does not seem hurt, that's not always the case. Seeing you, the mask of coldness cracks a little and Ronin gives you a look almost tender, the blue of his orbs finding a child warmth despite the folds that mark the outline of his eyes. In these moments, you can easily imagine the simple and funny man that he must have been, his dad jokes while cutting wood, you catch yourself dreaming of chimney fires, a place where to cook and which would be yours, just yours. But already a cloud of bitterness covers the fragile sunbeam and the scenery becomes dark, real, that of an existence where everyone has lost loved ones.

\- The manager has passed; I gave her a supplement. Even if she has to make concessions and leave us this room, I wanted her to be good. It's not easy for her.

You don’t really wait for an answer, you quickly understood that his silence was easily offset by your chatter and it suits you. Gently, you help your lover to get rid of his thick coat that falls on the ground, on hand like the sharp arc that always makes you cold in the back after all this time. You saw it in action, this weapon can shoot arrows and decapitate a man in the same movement. And what about the man who handles it ? For the moment, the latter is contemplating you with his usual sullen air, frowning as if you had done something stupid. But it's like the rest, you get used to it and you see it more as his natural expression (like Grumpy Cat) than as an attack. Not at all impressed, you address him a grimace by pressing you against his chest, feeling it frozen through his clothes. Your hand slips under the fabric, almost hot against his skin and you feel Ronin relax slightly. He literally needs to be warmed up, it's cute. Well, he also has cold feet syndrome in bed but does it matter? Tight against each other, you back to the mattress and the young man sits, drawing you between his legs so that you do not move away. His gesture is hesitant, as always, but he finally raises his hand to the back of your neck so that you can bend and he can give you a kiss. His lips are cold but incredibly soft, feeling a slight pressure on yours to translate how much you missed him. He struggles to admit it but to find you again after he has slaughtered criminals does him good, it gives him the impression that he is not totally empty.

A shudder runs through you as the kiss continues and you feel something pointing against your flesh, responding to your own desire. But you have all your time and the atmosphere is not rushing. You step aside slightly, straightening up to look at the face of the vigilante whose tongue passes quickly on his mouth while he observes you. The next part, he knows it, he guesses it rather and he wants it, he wants this time out of the time where he no longer thinks about the pain or the murder. Without pronouncing a word, he removes his shirt, letting you explore his chest as you like to do so, as if it allowed you to have access to a part of him he conceals. On his skin mingles all his life, many scars date back in recent years but some testify to a secret past. You explore them one by one, the touch of your hands warming the hero little by little while you walk each muscle of his being with pleasure. Thoughtful, Ronin lets you do, just caress your jaw and the long scar that goes up on your cheek without it disfigures you. On the contrary, he thinks you are beautiful like that and he had to make you understand it often so that you accept this mark. Concentrated on the pink or white lines, you end up, as always, by looking up to your lover with a supplicating look that amuses him because he likes your curiosity, your natural.

\- One day, you will tell me their story, how you made them ...  
\- Maybe but, for now, let me keep some secrets.

You pout and turn your head towards the suspended mirror, towards your solitary reflection in the dim light of the room. You touch the corners of his mouth with a knowing look, smiling as he kisses the pulp of your fingers.

\- Don’t you think I already know your darkest secrets ?

The mercenary shakes his head and presses you against him by tipping you on the bed to fold the blanket over your entwined bodies, it's time to take some rest. Your hand caresses his shaved temple while he traces indistinct forms in the hollow of your loins until sleep takes you, tight against each other until morning.

[b]****Flash-back****[/b]

The worm-eaten wood is frozen under your legs and you focus on the feeling of freshness rather than the strong smell that emanate from wet boards. Your bare arms are agitated with painful spasms despite your attempts to breathe deeply, panic threatens to overwhelm you at any time and it is imperative that you avoid losing your mind. The rope that grips your wrists, the burning sensation where they put their hands to drag you, everything resonates in your flesh with too much intensity, you struggle to think even if your life is at risk.

At the other end of the room, the men are talking and they don’t hesitate to speak loudly, your notions of Korean leaving you no doubt about their intentions. Without being particularly pretty, you remain appetizing and they will not be choosy, who looks closely in a brothel ? With your heart on the edge of your lips, you listen to them discussing your future through murky scenarios, and the more you think about how you got there, the less you understand when you made a mistake. You were not accosted by a stranger who had offered you a drink, you did not hang out in hot areas, it was not even so late ... You simply lost your way, your hotel was to be a few meters and that was enough for them to fall on you. Everything happened so fast ...

A sob writhes your throat, no one will ever know what you have become, no one. You are a stranger in this country, who came alone to spend a few days in Korea. Who would think to seek you? You'll become an umpteenth gone, your parents will let the local police do some research and then ... they'll forget you, what's a missing when half of the world's population has fallen to dust? Shit ! That's not the way it should be ... It's out of the question that you're sold as a sex toy, you'll be ugly, scream all the curses you know, distort your face to make it repulsive, become a filthy creature that nobody will ever want. We'll see if they can find a buyer ! This thought gives you back a little courage and helps to move away a little the despondency and terror that paralyzed you. It does not save you but at least you are less likely to fall apart.

One of your captors suddenly seems to lose interest in the conversation and turns to you, glancing at your cheap clothes, your absolutly not feminine posture, and your lack of shoes after being dragged away. For some obscure reason, it excites him that you are so disheveled, he wants to test you before letting his boss decide your fate. With a foul smile, he moves away from the group to join you, playing thoughtfully with the waistband of his pants enjoying the fear that rounds your eyes and contracts your limbs. He has always adored women with curves, that's not what is missing from you so he licks his chops in advance. Driven by a kind of instinct halfway between the Harpie and the seagull, you decide to shout at your lungs what goes through your head, an anime opening to be more precise. You are more animated by the hope that your discordant voice twists the eardrums of the pervert than by the idea that a helping soul can hear you (you are far from everything), which does not prevent you from putting heart at work. The Mafioso remains for a moment frozen in amazement before your cry of Valkyrie, a moment much too short. With a kick, he puts an end to your song and cuts your breath, squatting in front of you while you fold in two, your face red and your eyes flooded with tears. Too bad if he is bawling, he wants to give you a good lesson and make you pass the desire to play the rebels. With a steady hand, he raises your chin to meet your eyes, his face cracked with a happy grin testifying to the pleasure he takes with all this. Then, without warning, without losing his smile, he strikes you violently in the face, his signet biting the flesh of your cheek by drawing a scarlet line. Your jaw supports the shock but your vision is totally blurred, your head goes to the side and you make no movement, shocked. Tears flow without restraint, pricking your wound raw but you don’t pay attention.

Your abuser smirks, totally ignoring his companions who are shouting at him, he has the right to have a little fun, right? It's not like you’re going to be expensive. Vibrating with excitement, he extends his hand to your thighs, without noticing the whistling that splits the air behind him. With a dull sound, the arrow pierces through as if he were made of butter and the guy crumbles to the side, dead without even realizing what was happening. The sound of the corpse collapsing heavily near you draws you from your grip and you contemplate the body with a mixture of horror and amazement. But that's nothing next to what's happening a little further, while a hooded figure enters the warehouse through a skylight and begins to slaughter the men present. Although clearly sub-number compared to Mafiosi, this new character is not allowed to defeat, striking on all sides with force and wielding his long and sharp weapon (?) with an impressive fluidity.

First captivated by this extraordinary show, your survival instinct takes over and you seek ways to free yourself and escape. Before you even understood what you were doing, you approach your aggressor and rub the rope that holds your hands against the arrowhead that proudly protrudes from the cadaverous torso. It takes you a moment but you manage to free yourself from your bonds, breathing a sigh of relief that is lost in the mass of combative grunts and groans of agony. When you turn your head, the mysterious assailant executes his last opponent and you watch the mafioso crumble to his knees while holding his throat, a thick liquid escaping from between his fingers. It only took a few minutes and yet none of your kidnappers still breathe. The one who is likely to save your life is catching his breath, running a hand through his hair that the hood no longer covers. He does not seem to be paying attention to you, carefully wiping in his arm the weapon that allowed him to effortlessly decimate half a dozen Mafiosos. From the back, he releases so much anger and pain that you hesitate to approach but the desire to be near a person a little friendly (or at least, who will not try to hurt you) is louder and you walk slowly to this man whose face is vaguely familiar.

\- Th... thank you.

Your voice is flickering but you're happy that it's not chopped by the sobs, there's nothing more annoying and embarrassing. The hero turns around and looks at you for a brief moment, seemingly wondering what to answer or do. His face closes and he remains silent, passing you to leave the warehouse with the firm intention to let you get by. He has eliminated these criminals, that's all that matters, he cannot take the time to be nice, it's better that he stays constantly in that fog of anger that prevents him from thinking about what he lost, about his old life of Clint Barton. But you knew it already, right? Seeing the young man about to leave, you are feeling panicky, and if one of the mafia had survived? The mere idea of leaving alone in the night terrifies you and you grab your savior by the sleeve of his coat to prevent him from getting too far away.

\- Please ... Just ... just the time to find my hotel.

The supplicating tone contrasts a little with the strength of your grip but the whole has the merit of making Clint hesitate, he really looks at you for the first time. You're chilled with cold, barefoot and your cheek is still bleeding, leaving you here would almost be no assistance to a person in danger ... And then there is something in you that softened a little, which pierces his shell. Nothing very obvious, just a little bit. The young man fixes your wound for a few seconds that seem long before closing the fist and recovering.

\- Okay, I'll take you back. Put it on your cheek, you risk attracting attention.

He throws you a piece of fabric that you don’t try to detail, just plating on your cheek (it could be underpants, you don’t care) looking at the strange Robin Hood. As the shock dissipates, you begin to collect the pieces of the puzzle, associating his face with the arrow that killed your aggressor. So, he survived. If you had been told that you would meet Hawkeye ... the hero on whom you got a big crush. He has changed since the attack in New York, but it is the case for everyone. Next to Clint as a chick behind his mother, you leave the warehouse, a cool wind caressing your skin to remind you that you are free, the nightmare as short as intense that you lived is over. After giving him the name of your hotel, you set out in silence and you totally rely on this man you do not really know despite the media but to whom you trust completely. The latter ruminates his thoughts while walking quickly, the body tense as if he was constantly on the lookout. Soon, he puts between him and you several meters away that your short legs and bruised feet cannot fill. Out of breath, you end up stopping, removing an umpteenth pebble from your heel with a grimace. How on earth are hobbits doing?

\- Tolkien, hippie bastard ...!

Your extremely gracious exclamation has the merit of attracting the attention of the vigilante who turns around and sees you on one leg, dusting your sore plant. Why do you talk about Tolkien, he does not know anything about it but as he is often compared to Legolas, he feels targeted. Well, he was compared to Legolas. Before. Still, your distress is fun and he comes back to you with a resigned sigh, he must be in a good mood tonight to agree to do that. Anyway, he must help you if he wants to drop you safely before sunrise.

\- Hang on my neck and don’t wriggle too much.  
\- What?

You scowl with a lost look before stifling a curse when Clint passes an arm under your knees and lifts you up. Reflexively, you cling to him and you miss strangling him before resting your calm. The situation is completely incongruous, perched that you are in the arms of an Avenger because you have foot pain. His coat rustles against your body and you resist the urge to inhale deeply, even if you already perceive the musky and masculine smell under the fragrances of leather and rain. Red as a peony, you turn your head and cross an extremely disapproving and very blue look, which makes you blush to the extreme. The young man stiffens even more, what you do not think possible, and looks straight ahead as he walks the streets, looking extremely focused as to forget that he carries you. Or, it's because you're heavy. Possible.

Fortunately for you, the hotel is soon in sight and you find the mainland with a mixture of relief and disappointment : without being particularly big, Clint gave you the impression of being in the arms of a giant. Once standing on your two legs, you hand him his handkerchief/piece of tissue regretting to have stained it with blood and he refuses with a categorical gesture. It is now time to leave (and go to bed) so you waddle a bit of a foot on the other before daring to look at your savior trying to remain calm, impassive, zen. And this despite being in front of one of your biggest crushes.

\- Thanks for everything, Hawk ...  
\- Ronin, he cuts you stiffly.  
\- Ronin ... Thank you for saving me.  
\- You're welcome. Hmm ...  
\- Y/N. My name is Y/N.  
\- Very good, Y/N. Take care of yourself and... it'll leave a scar.

He indicates your cheek with a sign of the chin then turns his heels and disappears, dark silhouette in the dark night leaving you still lost in the face of this incredible and frightening evening. Your wound stings you and you grimace, provide that he was wrong on this point. Silently, you go to your room and ask yourself what's going to be next, and let's face it, if you’ll ever see Ronin again. It may be your soul nourished by drama and rosy-water scenarios that speak but you sense something special, as if you were led to find him for a specific purpose. But there you may be a little too dreamy. A specific purpose... pff ... and why not Fate ?

[b]**** Back to the present ****[/b]

\- Take the time to feel it between your fingers, when it slides on your cheek of all its length. Breathe deeply and when you are ready, release the tension.

Ronin's breath makes your hair tremble as he puts his hands on your hips to improve your position, his pelvis pressed against yours. Even if this contact does not leave you indifferent, you remain focused on the tension in your muscles and on the target of fortune several meters away from you. You have already managed to reach closer, bigger ones, so there is no reason why you can not pierce this one. After taking a deep breath, you drop the arrow and grimace feeling the rope hit your breast, you really do not get used to it. The long, dark line splits the air and enters not far from the center. It is not perfect yet but your arms cannot endure anymore so it will be enough for today. In any case, the sun is setting and the increasing darkness will soon prevent you from shooting properly. Keeping you from smiling proudly, you surrender his weapon to the young man by folding and unfolding your aching fingers. Your companion looks at your arrow trying to remain impassive even if, inside, he is rather happy.

\- Not bad ... you still need train but it's a good start.  
\- Do not spare my modesty, I was great. Say it.

The man rolls his eyes to the sky by recovering his equipment, keeping silence while knowing very well that it will make you enrage, that you wait some compliments after the long hours of training which you have just undergone (with request).

\- Let's say I'm a good teacher.

A teasing glow that one might have thought dead shines fleetingly in his blue eyes before he regains his seriousness. But you don’t need more and you smile in front of his look of badly licked bear that you got to know and appreciate. You return to your nest of the day, walking side by side, letting your hands brush against each other. You're totally exhausted but it was worth it, the day went much better than you expected. Ronin is not fooled by your intentions and as you go past an umpteenth monument in memory of the missing, he glances at you.

\- Thank you for keeping me busy.

He adds nothing, plunging into his thoughts turned to the past, to those he misses and he does not hope to see again. This day is a hell for everyone, remembering that the years pass though the world has stopped turning round. You often think of the life you had, the people who have evaporated as those who have remained. Do you miss them? Infinitely. Do you regret having fled to a foreign country ? No, you cannot say it.

You arrive quickly "at home", it will be time to separate, at least for this night. Having managed to divert Ronin from his dark thoughts for several hours is already a feat, but he must also be allowed to perform his own rituals. As he prepares to leave you, you hold him by the hand, taken by a strange presentiment.

\- Kiss me, I deserved a little tenderness, you torturer.

Even if he grumbles a little for the form, your lover nods and wraps you in his coat, placing a kiss on your mouth and your forehead. He never thought he could meet someone like you, a semblance of calm and warmth in the darkness. Sometimes he feels remorse at the idea that you make him happy but he can not leave you, there are limits to his punishment. But already he departs, adjust his coat making sure his bow is ready, his quiver is full. He faints in the shadows and shudders as he thinks about what he's going to do. Like every night, he will hunt, slaughter the underworld and criminals who swarm when night falls. He does his own justice and if it does him good, it’s perfect. It is not as if the order still really reigned since Thanos arrival.

As you return to your room and get rid of your shoes, you imagine what these hunts look like. You have already attended one of them but not until the end, Ronin could not finish the job since you were there. He agreed to tell you about it once, long after he told you his secret, and in vague terms. He simply said that he felt no pleasure and that their blood had a taste of ash, a stale aroma. Three, four bastards are enough to keep him alive for several days, the rest is simply for execution. But tonight is special, who knows what anger can trigger in him, if he will have the same control over his thirst for revenge and blood. You hope so, you have confidence. After all, he never hurt you. He is a hero.

The door slams and you stand up abruptly, you had to fall asleep after this long day of archery. Still half in the vapes, you look for the young man, a little surprised that he made noise, he who knows how to be discreet as a shadow.

\- Ronin?

Nobody answers you and you wonder if you did not dream that sound of door when a muffled sound reaches you. It's not really a sound of pain, more a complaint or... a sob?  
The worry ends to wake you and you approach the door, hardly distinguishing a silhouette in the darkness. No doubt about his identity, you learned to recognize his musculature, the line of his hair... But you are surprised to find him prostrated, a slight tremor running down his shoulders, him you've never known otherwise than impassible and master of himself. Made dumb with anguish, you lay your hand on the thick leather of his cloak, still wet with a rain that must have fallen during your sleep, and drag him to the window to contemplate him by the moonlight. The young man lets himself go, feeling like he's out of his body.

The first thing that strikes you is the pallor of your companion's face, how much his features are drawn. His azure eyes don’t rest on you, preferring to fix the exterior landscape, darkened or rather veiled by a strong emotion. It is only then that you notice the blood that stains his hands, makes his coat shine and defiles his face with an infamous mark. This is the first time he appears before you so... dark, still carrying traces of his nocturnal activities. You often had to heal his wounds but never to see him in this vampiric aspect. The visible shock of your lover prevents you from believing that it is the blood of a simple criminal, but whose is it?

\- What happened ?

In spite of your efforts to maintain a calm tone, your voice is weak and you cannot hide the fear on your face. Ronin shudders as he hear your voice and he looks down at his scarlet hands. He, the icy assassin, is unable to tell you about his crime. How could you accept what he did? His mouth articulates mute words as he looks back at the alley, her corpse laid in the rain, her face frozen in a mask of horror. Everything happened so fast... he was so obsessed with his pain, his anger, his desire for blood that he slipped. The silence drags on and you begin to imagine the worst scenarios, this evening was already a trial for him, what happened ?

\- Talk to me... I’m freaking out.

Not knowing what else to do, you take a towel, anything, and start wiping Ronin's face and hands to remove the crimson stains. The softness of your gestures even as he sees only a monster in himself triggers like a shock in the young man who seizes your wrists forcefully and falls to his knees, shaking with sobs that hurtling down his cheeks, completing to wash the blood. He cries for a long time, without trying to hold back his tears, like a child, and you hold him tightly without a word, cradling him until he calms down and confesses everything to you. Never have you seen him so vulnerable, pressed against you as you protect him from the world. Or maybe of himself.

[b]****[/b]

Midnight sounds and you sigh, another year has elapsed since Thanos wiped out family, friends, normality ... You take the time to quietly gather for those you have lost but deep in your mind resonates a worried voice that prevents you from being perfectly focused on your mourning. Today, billions of candles will be lit, we will wear black, we will commemorate the memories, because it feels good. But a person will not manage to get better and this despite all his efforts. Or maybe he refuses to really get better because it would be horrible, that would mean continuing to live. We can not talk enough about the guilt of the survivors ... This person, you would like to help him, it's been a long time since you think about it and you seem to have found an idea. Stupid probably.

Ronin passes in front of you, dressed in his shadow suit, his bow clenched in his fist. This night more than any other, he is preparing to make a massacre, to shed blood hoping to feel better then. But you both know that he will come home exhausted, his gaze empty and burned with a feeling of shame and disgust, because he will not be able to restrain himself. The thirst that animates him is inexhaustible, you are aware of it, but maybe you can help a little. Your hand closes on his and you stand in front of him, the latter guessing your thoughts even before you open your mouth.

\- Don’t stop me, Y/N, I need it.  
\- Really ? Do you think that will help you, really?  
\- Yes, to eliminate rots makes me feel good, that's enough for my happiness.  
\- It was not enough last time...

There is no real reproach in your voice, only sadness and a statement. Clint's face cringes, however, at the memory of the teenager who has suffered his vengeful fury. He felt nothing killing her, nothing at all, as if she had been one of those criminals. Hatred, anger, pain, he was blinded by his thirst for blood and it was enough for a moment... You perceive how painful this memory is, you remember his return, livid and his hands still wet, uncontrollable tears thar had shaken him. This scene, you have often thought about it, almost every day and it has deeply marked you. At the time, you didn’t know what to say; now you sense what you have to do. You look into the eyes reddened by thirst, squeezing your lover's icy hand.

\- Let me help you…

You have absolutely no intention of preventing him from killing garbage or feeding on their blood, he is doing it all year long and this is just one way of enforcing justice while allowing him to feed himself. On the other hand, you do not want him to slip further, that the pain of having lost all those he loved burns him to the point that he does not only slaughter those who deserve it. If you can spare him this shame, you will do it without hesitation. It's all about control, not throwing himself into the darkness like a wild beast. When you think about it, you accept his condition of vampire with a lot of calm, maybe because it's not crazier than the rest or because you love him too much to be afraid. Who would have thought that the Avenger that is often forgotten was much more than an archer? Even before the Snap, Clint had a dark secret that no one, except Natasha, knew. Even the great Nick Fury had no suspicion. It must be said that the hero was a model of exemplarity, able to walk in full sun despite the pain, feeding exclusively on blood bags. Never had anyone seen his fangs, nobody before you. Bu it seems taht the Snap has removed all control at the same time as his family. But let's go back to the present, to Ronin who refuses to listen to you, to your clenched hand on his, to determination in your eyes.

\- Don’t go like that, let me help you stay in control, stay a hero.

The young man groans on hearing this word but you don’t care, he remains forever an Avenger for you, in spite of everything. And you too, you want to be heroic, even if it's short-term, just tonight. You push back the hood that hides the features loved, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek while you feel him tremble by hugging you gently. You have won, you feel it. You are aware that you may die, it is a risk to consider, but it is not only for the survival of the one you love but also of the one he was, the one he is still deep within, he has to continue to exist. And then it saves an innocent life. No, you are not totally a saint, there is a little pride there. But no matter your motivations. And then, you trust him. You just have to avoid him leaving thirsty, it's simple. As you spread your neck apprehensively, you whisper in Clint's ear, a laugh in your voice.

\- I guess I had to meet you. Nice to help you fill your gap.

It's awfully awkward but it doesn’t matter, you feel the hot breath of the young man against your throat as he laughs silently and that's enough for you. Eyes closed, you focus on your other senses, note how Ronin tightly squeezes you against him in a last movement of hesitation before accepting your decision (you're always right). He will know how to contain himself, he loves you too much to lose you. His mouth is on the thin skin and you shudder at this contact, the hard lips seem cold as stone but it is not fear that softens your knees. Not only. The time stretches and you feel him against you as the caress becomes kiss, both tender and feverish, tearing you a sigh. How could you be afraid ?

You cling a little harder when his tongue touches the hollow of your neck, it could look like any hug if the end was not special. Your heart beats wildly and you smile murmuring his name, his real name, while your lover decides to dive into your flesh to quench his thirst. Without being able to return to him what he has lost, you have the possibility to fill him, just a little, and that makes you happy. At the moment, the pain pierces you and you moan but it only lasts a moment, the young man is so sweet that you do not pay attention to the burn on your throat. Carefully, Ronin lies you down on the floor, still drinking, supporting your head as you feel lost. Your thoughts are confused but you feel the tenderness of the embrace, the sweetness with which he drinks while making sure not to hurt you, the movement of his mouth. He gave you love, a happy life despite the circumstances, so what is a little blood?

The one who was called Hawkeye kisses your throat one last time before standing up, split between gratitude and pain. He admires your lifeless body, your face frozen in a half-smile as an ultimate finger to the sadness of this world in ruins. He could not stop but you both knew it would happen. Before he leaves, he plants a rose between your teeth, because he knew your dramatic side perhaps, or to make the scene less morbid. Then he disappears murmuring your name gently. He will never forget you, it's a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Requests are open here : https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bubbletimestories


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